


The Foreign Country

by kathryne



Series: The Past Forty Years [5]
Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Gen, Infidelity, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: Grace ends the call and puts the phone down, inking the date in her planner.  She caps her pen and looks at the page with satisfaction.  Of course, the days are nowhere near as full as they used to be, but they're also a long way from the sheer unmarked emptiness of those first few months.  It's starting to feel like there's a life out there to be lived still.  She adds a note to go grocery shopping on Tuesday, a reminder of Frankie's eye exam on Friday, then flips the page, pondering the shape of their next week.  And there it is, in big block letters because Frankie was watching over her shoulder when she wrote it months earlier: FRANKIE'S BIRTHDAY, and underneath, in Frankie's shaky scrawl, yahooooooooooo!!!*This is absolutely at least slightly less angsty.





	The Foreign Country

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veroniquemagique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veroniquemagique/gifts), [chainofclovers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainofclovers/gifts).



> This was inspired by prompts from both veroniquemagique ('something about one of their birthdays, pre- or mid-canon') and chainofclovers ('a sudden memory or startling event in present day causes Grace to reckon with a much earlier memory of an interaction with Frankie'). I hope they don't mind sharing the fic. ;)
> 
> I am on tumblr at @sapphoshands, where I have a lot of feelings about this show taking over my life. Join me!

Grace ends the call and puts the phone down, inking the date in her planner. She caps her pen and looks at the page with satisfaction. Of course, the days are nowhere near as full as they used to be, but they're also a long way from the sheer unmarked emptiness of those first few months. It's starting to feel like there's a life out there to be lived still. She adds a note to go grocery shopping on Tuesday, a reminder of Frankie's eye exam on Friday, then flips the page, pondering the shape of their next week. And there it is, in big block letters because Frankie was watching over her shoulder when she wrote it months earlier: FRANKIE'S BIRTHDAY, and underneath, in Frankie's shaky scrawl, _yahooooooooooo!!!_

She didn't forget, exactly. It was just that she didn't expect to have to remember on her own, not after the fuss Frankie made last year. She'd started dropping hints more than a month in advance, pointing out a new vegetarian restaurant in the Gaslamp District "that gets pretty busy, Grace, so, you know, if you wanted to hold a special occasion there, like say a celebration of the life and achievements of your favourite housemate, you better book in advance," nudging Grace in the ribs every time they passed a stand selling quartz crystals and offering a quick primer on which ones were appropriate to give as gifts and which would be insulting. "Insulting enough to get you to move out?" Grace snapped, but Frankie just smiled. Grace eventually went back and bought the crystals.

This year, there's been none of that. In fact, Frankie hasn't even mentioned her birthday, not since Grace filled in her planner at the beginning of the year. She bites her lip, wondering, then grabs her martini and stands in one smooth motion.

The door to Frankie's studio is closed. Grace knocks; when there's no reply, she turns the knob, easing the door open and peeping inside. Frankie's standing in front of a canvas, jabbing at it like she's wielding a knife and not a brush. The palette is darker than Frankie's usual impressionistic nightmares. Something about it makes Grace feel crowded, overwhelmed; she steps closer, intrigued and disturbed simultaneously. "Wow, Frankie," she says.

Frankie yelps, arms flailing. Her paintbrush goes flying across the room, but she ignores it, turning instead to Grace. "Holy sneak attack, Batman! Warn a woman!"

"Sorry," Grace says, taking a step back, out of any further paint blast radius. "I knocked."

"You know I don't pay attention to the physical plane when I'm in the zone." Frankie straightens her shirt and clears her throat. "All we need is another heart attack among the four of us."

"Don't even joke about that." Grace takes a prophylactic swig of her martini. Frankie wrinkles her nose apologetically. "Listen, I have a question."

"Any time you want to experience the glory of skyclad beach yoga, I'm here for ya, just say the word." Frankie waggles her eyebrows and Grace shoots her a dirty look.

" _Not_ that." Never that. She shakes her head to dislodge the mental image. "No – Frankie, it's your birthday next week. Shouldn't we, I don't know, decide what we're going to do?" 

"Oh." Frankie stops grinning. Turning away, she crosses the room and begins looking for her paintbrush. "Don't worry about it," she says, not looking at Grace.

Grace blinks. "Do you already have plans? Did the kids take over this year?" Something rankles about that. Last year she wanted nothing more than to get out of her organisational role; this year, the idea that she's been replaced leaves her feeling hollow.

"Nah." Frankie picks the paintbrush up from where it landed on her couch pillow. She looks at the blob of dark purple paint on the pillowcase, shrugs, and flips it clean side up. "I said, don't worry about it. We don't have to do anything."

"What? Frankie! You always make a huge deal of your birthday!" Frankie shrugs again. Grace crosses her arms and looks at her in disbelief. "Last year you wore a sparkly tiara for a week and wouldn't respond unless I addressed you as Supreme Birthday Ruler. What's going on with you?"

"I just don't want a fuss, okay, Grace? Just leave it." Frankie jabs her brush into a jar of turpentine hard enough that it sloshes. She pulls two more brushes out of her sloppy bun and sticks them in too, sending her hair tumbling down over her shoulders. She hides behind the grey and brown waves like that's enough to make Grace give up. Well, not any more.

"But you usually have such big parties! Big parties... full of... loud people, and animals, and extremely dubious alcoholic punch." Grace falters for a moment, wondering why she's being so vehement about this instead of rejoicing like she's been granted a stay of execution. Plus, if they ignore Frankie's birthday, it'll be even easier to 'forget' her own only a few weeks later. Just the thought makes her stand a little taller, pushing her shoulders back.

"Oh, yeah." Finally Frankie turns to face her, but her usual fire is missing. "That's me, with my big, loud, crazy celebrations, right?" Confused, Grace nods, and Frankie shakes her head. "Yeah, it wasn't always like that. It started for my fiftieth. Sol's idea. And guess what else started then?"

"What, when you – when we turned fifty?" Grace frowns, thinking back. "Twenty years ago? Twenty... oh." She stares at Frankie, aghast. Frankie's face is full of pain. Twenty years ago. Grace remembers.

*

Grace stopped dead the moment she stepped through the restaurant door. Robert tried to keep walking, but she was clinging too tightly to his arm. He turned back to face her, easing her fingers open where they were digging into his bicep. "Come on, Grace," he said, "I already told you we wouldn't stay long, but we have to show our faces."

But Grace wasn't looking at him; instead, she stared over his shoulder, eyes wide. "Why," she started, then swallowed and tried again. "Robert, why are there _clowns_?"

Robert turned to see where she was looking, then chortled. "Yeah, Sol said he invited all sorts of people from Frankie's past, and I guess she spent a summer studying clowning at Dell'Arte. Those must be some of her classmates." He tried to step forward, but Grace grabbed his suit jacket again, and he frowned. "What now?"

"Frankie's not going to be in a clown suit, is she?" Grace asked.

"Well, this _is_ supposed to be a surprise party, so unless she was wearing one just for the hell of it, I don't think so," Robert said, in the slow, low voice he always used to point out Grace's failures of logic. "Now let's go."

"Knowing Frankie, that's not actually reassuring," Grace muttered, following him into the crowded room. She stuck close to Robert's side as he greeted friends and colleagues, smiling while he made conversation and doing her best not to check the time every few seconds. They'd cut it close; Sol was supposed to show up with Frankie any minute. According to Robert, Frankie had no idea about the party. It had to be easy to keep a secret from someone that out of touch with reality.

Grace refused to join in the chorus of ‘Surprise!' when Sol and Frankie arrived. Instead she watched as Frankie jumped about a foot in the air, the dozens of tiny bells tied to her skirt clanging. "Oh, wow," Frankie said, catching her breath. "Really, wow. Sol, was this – did you set this all up?" She turned and blinked up at her husband, still stunned.

"Anything for your special day," Sol said, leaning down to kiss her. People in the crowd cooed and cameras flashed, capturing the moment – probably destined to be the centrepiece of a seashell collage or something else ridiculous that Frankie would give Sol when he turned seventy-five, Grace thought even as she applauded the couple.

"So," she said, turning to Robert, who was standing stiffly beside her, clutching his Scotch too tightly to clap. "When can we leave?"

Robert coughed sharply. "It would be rude not to stay for cake and presents," he said without looking at her.

"Well." She tried not to read disapproval into his stance. "At least Frankie probably doesn't have the discipline to put off opening gifts. I can't believe she hasn't started tearing into the wrapping paper already." Robert huffed absently, still watching as, across the room, Frankie greeted old friends with hugs and kisses, Sol smiling by her side.

Even Robert was starting to show signs of exasperation by the time Frankie and Sol sat down at the central table to cut the cake. Grace handed the piece offered to her on to Robert, but Robert passed it on as well, and she looked at him in surprise. "It's not like you to say no to processed sugar."

Robert rolled his eyes. "It doesn't go well with Scotch."

"Never stopped you before," Grace said, but under her breath, not wanting to prompt the familiar argument. She squeezed his arm instead and struck out for the bar to refresh her martini. A few other lawyers' wives she recognised from former firm Christmas parties waved her over, and she spent a pleasant interval catching up on gossip and bragging about her business and her daughters before the tone of the crowd shifted. She turned to see Robert gesturing at her. Frankie was opening presents.

She slid her hand into her purse, checking again to make sure she'd remembered their gift, and walked over to join him. After several days of panic about what the hell to get, Grace had finally bought Frankie a stake in an orangutan sanctuary through the World Wildlife Fund. The card and certificate looked thin and unsubstantial next to the boxes and bags that had already accumulated around Frankie's chair, but Grace forced a smile as she handed it over. "Robert and I are very happy to be celebrating with you," she said, and Frankie smiled back with just as little sincerity.

Frankie ripped the envelope open messily, already saying "Thanks _so_ much" as she pulled out the card. Then she looked more closely at the certificate; she faltered and stared up, wide-eyed. "Oh, Grace, this is – this is really great. Look, Sol!" She swung around, waving the certificate at Sol. "This place takes care of orphaned baby orangutans until they can be released back into the wild! Just think of all those fuzzy little guys going to forest school and relearning how to be free. Can we go visit? We should all be supporting the orangutan journey. Hey, maybe the firm can take it on as a charitable cause!" She jumped up and wrapped her arms around Grace, enveloping her, before she could escape, in the scent of incense and pot smoke. "Really, thanks," she said again, and Grace patted her awkwardly on the back.

"You're very welcome," she said, avoiding Frankie's gaze by concentrating on detangling her bracelet from one of Frankie's gauzy purple scarves. "I'm glad you like it." 

Robert stepped forward and brushed his lips briefly against Frankie's cheek. "Sol," he said, looking past her, "can I steal you for a second? About that case for Monday?"

"Um. The case. Right now? I mean. I know it's, uh, a big case, it's a – we've got to, um, prep a bit this weekend, but not now, I'll – okay, back in a tick," Sol babbled. Robert rested a hand on Sol's shoulder, drawing him away, and Frankie dropped back down in her seat. After a brief pause, she jerked her head at Sol's empty chair and raised her eyebrows. Grace hesitated; then, figuring it would be the easiest way for Robert to find her when he came back, she let herself sink down on the cushion, sighing as she took her weight off her feet.

They sat in silence for a moment, Grace desperately casting about for some innocuous small talk. "Quite the turn-out," she said eventually.

"Yeah." Frankie dragged the pad of her finger over her empty cake plate and licked it clean of leftover frosting. "It's a trip," she added.

"I was expecting you to do a family thing," Grace said. "Just the two of you and the boys." And some rubbery tofu spectacular, she thought but didn't say.

"I figured that was the plan." Frankie toyed with the stem of her wine glass. "We don't usually go big. But I guess Sol just wanted to go all out for a change. It's nice of him." She took a deep breath and a drink of wine. "And what about you? You're gonna catch up with me pretty soon. Big plans for a blowout celebration?"

"God." Grace scoffed. "I don't even want to think about turning, uh." She lowered her voice and practically mouthed "Fifty" at Frankie. She ran her hand over her hair automatically, checking that there were no strands out of place. "No, Robert booked me a spa package and told me he's taking the girls hiking for the weekend. I'll have some time to myself. It'll... it'll be nice."

"Can't beat a quiet weekend," Frankie said, glancing at the chaos around her, startling Grace into a giggle. "I'm surprised you're not making him buy out CJ Charles. I just saw an ad of theirs today, when I was putting new paper on the bottom of the birdcage, and there was some fancy diamond and sapphire set in there that made me think of you. You know, sleek and expensive and untouchable." 

"Oh." Grace wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. She fiddled with Sol's fork, poking at his half-eaten cake slice, searching for words to cover her shock. Over Frankie's shoulder she caught sight of Sol and Robert coming through the crowd; relief washed through her and she stood up with undignified speed. "Well, Sol, I'd better give you your wife back," she said loudly, reaching out for Robert's arm. "You guys enjoy the rest of your evening."

Frankie smiled at her – a real smile this time, full and open, like she hadn't just startled Grace with her perspicacity. "You too."

Grace had been afraid she'd need to convince Robert to leave, but thankfully he was just as ready. He collected their coats without complaint and they did a last quick loop of the room, nodding and shaking hands. The cab pulled up just as they stepped outside, and Grace thought they both relaxed once they were in the backseat.

"So, Robert," she said, breaking the silence when they were nearly home. "You... you're not planning something like that for my birthday, are you? Because I'm telling you now, I won't find it cute or funny or – or anything."

"Believe me, Grace," Robert said, "it hadn't even crossed my mind." He patted her knee absently.

"Well." She leaned back in the seat, still, somehow, unsettled. "Good."

*

Yeah. Grace remembers that year, and every following year, how Sol started to send out invitations earlier and earlier, how meticulously planned each party would be. Even for someone as effusive as Sol, it felt like overkill; she remembers saying as much to Robert once and getting snapped at. And she remembers, though she doesn't want to, how often Frankie's birthday seemed to come in the middle of the year's heaviest caseload or right before a conference, leading into long nights or quick trips that left Robert distracted and absent for days. 

Frankie's still looking at her, mouth tight, hands empty. Grace has to swallow and clear her throat before she can meet Frankie's eyes. "Okay," she says quietly, and then, again, "Okay. If that's what you want." Frankie jerks her head in a short sharp nod. Grace nods back. They don't really need any other words; she turns in silence and leaves.

The next week, Frankie's birthday dawns bright and sunny, just like almost every other day. There's no sign of her when Grace first comes downstairs, and she doesn't want to push: she takes the paper and her morning coffee and retreats back up to her bedroom. She opens the windows and tucks her legs under the bedcovers to ward off the chill, splitting her attention between the news and the rhythm of the waves outside. She doesn't know why she feels nervous.

The paper's forgotten on her lap and she's staring out the window when she hears the door open downstairs. Before she can get up, though, Frankie's heavy step comes closer, up the stairs, and then she doesn't even pause to knock, just opens Grace's door and barrels right in. Grace looks up, already half-smiling, but Frankie cuts her off before she can say a word. "What the hell did you do, Grace?" 

Grace jerks back, the smile freezing on her lips. "What?" she sputters.

"Coyote just called," Frankie says, hands on her hips. "He said he wanted to be sure he got me before we _left_ , so he could wish us a good _trip_. What trip, Grace? I told you! I don't want any fuss!"

"Now, Frankie, calm down." Grace swings her legs over the side of the bed, but Frankie is standing too close for Grace to get up.

"I will _not_ calm down!" Frankie's almost looming; Grace isn't used to feeling short in her presence. "I just wanted a quiet weekend! No parties, no celebrating, nothing! God damn it, why doesn't anyone _listen_?" She shudders to a stop, breath catching.

Despite their proximity, Grace has to stand at that, getting right into Frankie's personal space. She places her hands on Frankie's shoulders, steadying her. "I know, Frankie," she says, holding her gaze. "That's why I told everyone we were going off to Joshua Tree for the weekend, to commune with nature and roll in dirt and... whatever else you do out there." Frankie tries to pull away, but Grace won't let her. "But Frankie – Frankie! I lied!" Grace nearly shouts, and that seems to get through. "Okay? I lied. There's no trip. I just said there was, because. Well. I wanted to make sure no one else would wonder why you weren't having a party, or try to plan one for you, or show up with cake, or – or anything like that."

Frankie licks her lips. "You... lied?" she repeats quietly.

"Yeah." Grace nods, squeezing Frankie's shoulders, rubbing them reassuringly. "Instead, I, uh. I stocked up on pretzels and corn chips, and I bought vegan cheese for that lasagna you keep begging me to make. And there's a wuxia marathon on tv this weekend." She pronounces it ‘wook-zee-ah,' and Frankie smiles a tiny smile.

"Woo-sha," Frankie corrects her. Grace nods, and then Frankie says, voice still thin, "Really? Nobody's going to come over?"

"Really," Grace confirms. "No interruptions. No parties. No nothing. Just you and me, all weekend."

"Oh, Grace." Frankie throws her arms open and Grace steps forward into her embrace. She wraps her own arms around Frankie in return; she still smells almost the same, Nag Champa and pot and baby powder and maybe a little of Grace's Bottega Veneta Knot. Grace buries her face in Frankie's hair, hiding her grin of relief. "Thanks," Frankie says into her shoulder, holding her tight.

"Happy birthday," Grace says softly, and Frankie pulls her closer.

After a moment, Frankie sighs. "Hey," she says without letting go. "Can we go to Joshua Tree for _your_ birthday? I'll let you wear my tiara and everything..."

Grace leans back slightly, just enough that she can see Frankie's face. "Don't push your luck," she says, "birthday tyrant," and Frankie throws her head back and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there."  
> \- L.P. Hartley, _The Go-Between_


End file.
